Before and After
by Reika
Summary: Once, there was a timeline, a natural progression. Now he knows only two separate & distinct eras. Before and After. The periods are a dichotomy, cleaved with the heat of fire and rush of water. “I don't want you to die for me. I want you to live for me.”


A/N: Okay, I know I've been gone a good while, but I'm not dead! Nearly, but not quite. It's a long story, but put short, I've been very ill. To my lovely lovely Time For Change readers, I've been writing quite a bit for that story, and I'm currently cleaning up a few things. It **will** be finished, I promise you. This, however, wouldn't leave me alone. I'm sorry if Sokka seems a little OOC at first, but (as you will read) there's been a lot that has happened in the time since the series ended and when this takes place (5 years later). A lot more of his canonical character traits will emerge, I promise. However, as I've been writing for three hours now, I thought I'd go ahead and post the first chapter and see how it's received. Please read and review, as I haven't posted anything since I got sick and it's somewhat nerve wracking coming back after so long. The feedback is much needed and greatly appreciated. Oh!, also, I'm sorry that this is unbeta'd, but Jasmine is asleep I am sure, and I don't think there are any major errors (hopefully). Thanks a mill, Reika.

Title: Before and After

Author: Reika

Rating: Current PG-13 (for themes) – but will be hard R here and NC-17 where permitted

Summary: Once, there was time. There was a time line to things, a natural (if not always foreseeable) progression of things. Now, he knows of only two separate and distinctive eras. Before and After. The first sixteen years of his life were like something else, certainly not his history. If he tried, he could remember, but the two periods are now a dichotomy, cleaved in twain with the heat of fire and the rush of water.

"But I don't want you to die for me. I want you to _live_ for me."

Pairings: Zuko/Sokka, Zuko/Mai, Aang/Katara, Sokka/others

Archive: Please ask.

Before and After

Chapter 1: New Arrivals and Old Wounds

Once, there was time. There was a time line to things, a natural (if not always foreseeable) progression of things. Now, he knows of only two separate and distinctive eras. Before and After. The first sixteen years of his life were like something else, certainly not his history. If he tried, he could remember, but the two periods are now a dichotomy, cleaved in twain with the heat of fire and the rush of water.

The young Firelord inspected his son with reserve, even as he felt pride swell in his belly. He'd heard that in the Earth Kingdom, the first-born son was held up high, from the rooftops, even, presented to the city and world for all to see. Zuko wanted nothing more than to grab his infant son and head for the castle turrets...but he would not. In spite of his joining with the Avatar, he was still a Fire Nation scion – and despite catching fire quite often, he found he could not purge this from him. He found he hadn't wanted to. Even with war and genocide, he wanted to preserve his culture. After all, it began long before the war, and he would ensure that it would outlive it, and him, as well. And so, here he was, heir and all.

Mai was exhausted. Her black hair clung to her forehead with sweat and dried tears were salty on her cheeks when Zuko bent and kissed them. They'd served as Firelord and Lady for five years now, trying – sometimes painfully – to achieve an heir the entire time. Zuko asked her to marry him only weeks after assuming the throne. It was as practical as it was natural. He needed a wife and heir to cement him to power, and quickly. However, he hadn't expected it to be so hard. He wasn't sure which of them was actually responsible for the difficulty in conceiving, but it was no secret that his people had already decided and that, to them, Mai had nothing to do with it. This couldn't be true, of course, he told himself. He'd had to travel elsewhere since ascending to power, but when he was home, he'd dutifully lain with her every night. Almost.

There were the rare nights he was kept away, but they were few and far between. Besides, he told himself, it was always urgent and necessary business that held him – it couldn't be helped. He told himself this a few times, just to calm his nerves, even if it hadn't been true. Though urgent correctly described his nights with the Water Tribe Ambassador, they were by no means necessary. In reality, they were counter-productive to both men's duties, he had to admit. And still, there he had ended up an average of once a month, right up until Mai had gone into labor.

Zuko told himself that it hadn't mattered that Sokka had refused to see him two nights ago, because just as he was told by that...whore, or prostitute, or some other name for an insignificant female...that Sokka was 'busy' and had the door slammed in his face, the mid-wives had come to get him. No. It hadn't mattered at all. Never mind that he'd crossed almost the entire palace in a furious daze, unsure when he'd arrived at the chamber prepared for his Lady, just how he'd gotten there. Never mind that he'd had to quell the ire inside him, barely able to restrain himself from burning the door down and taking the whore with it. He would have been justified – to speak to him in such a manner in his own palace, and then to **slam** a door in his face. There were but a hand few of people who could get away with such a thing.

Somewhere inside him, Zuko knew that it wouldn't have been justified at all, for any reason, let alone that the one person at the top of this narrow list had undoubtedly told the creature to do what she had done in the first place. But still. It made his blood boil to think of it, made him insane with white-hot fury, and even hotter fire. Having, much to his Father's displeasure, been a creature more of emotion than scheme for most of his life, Zuko wasn't surprised at his sudden anger, though he was annoyed by it. Thought ironically cold by most who crossed his path, to those who knew him, the young King's feelings were often exposed on the good side of his face. He loathed this. He hated that he could never keep anything from anyone he let close while the two people he was nearest to were perpetually difficult to read. Mai, with her seemingly gloomy disposition that almost never lifted, even when she was entirely and completely content, and Sokka, who seemed to bounce everywhere on the emotional map with a quickness that left Zuko exhausted, all the while almost never letting any of it through. He'd found himself looking for Mai's rare smile and Sokka's _anything_ like rewards – gems only he could access, and far more precious to him than anything in the royal treasury. He laughed at times, when he knew he was completely alone and unshackled from his throne, that he – The Firelord, the Son of Ozai, was so oft held captive by a Water Tribesman and a Woman.

Zuko was snapped from his thoughts with the announcement that the Southern Water Tribe Ambassador was present to see the child. Silently, always silently, Zuko was thankful that he was no longer holding the infant, for fear that he would drop him, due to nerves. He nodded to the attendant, giving approval to let Ambassador Sokka in to see the babe. Although it was, of course, customary for the immediate family to be the first to inspect the child, Zuko let the tradition pass. With his father and sister in prison, that left Iroh, who was traveling from the Earth Kingdom. He would have liked his uncle, and in truth, the only real father he'd ever had, there by his side, but as Mai had gone into labor a week earlier than expected, Iroh had not left his tea shop for his homeland in time.

And although he had not mentioned it to anyone else, Zuko was ecstatic that his uncle was coming to see him after an all too long absence. Unlike his wife or his wayward companion, Iroh was so easy for him to be around. It wasn't that the older man was any simpler, far from it – in fact, Zuko considered his uncle the most complex and amazing person he had ever know, or known _of. _But Iroh had a peacefulness that was infectious. In strict juxtaposition from his younger brother, Iroh brought a calm to all those around him the way Ozai had just as easily envenomated with his anger and warmongering. The way that his father's presence had twisted and churned his insides as effortlessly as though he'd actually thrust his flaming fist into Zuko's gut and eviscerated him, his uncle Iroh had, in turn, placed everything back where it had always belonged, balming the wounds with his wisdom and kindness afterwards.

Even after ascending to the throne of Firelord, Zuko found that he still carried that same terrible twisting around with him. It was a sense of impending dread, almost, as though he were running from something, constantly running. This was, of course, not so, he told himself time and time again. He had his enemies, certainly, any king and most assuredly any Firelord always would, especially in a nation still healing from a one-hundred year war. But there were no immediate threats. If his domestic and international reports had not made him certain of this, constantly having one good eye over his shoulder had. And yet. There the feeling had been and had remained. Zuko wondered, in the same way he wondered about right and wrong five years previous, if all his skulking around in his own home had made him paranoid. It was a question that needed no answer, as it was more self-posturing than anything else. It was something he already knew but was unable to admit just yet.

He pondered whether he was one of those people that needed conflict in his world to survive in it. He knew Ozai and Azula were as such, but had only recently begun to think that he too fit the description. Perhaps it was in his blood. Perhaps it had come from a life of being swaddled in treachery and suspicion from birth. Hopefully, he thought, the overdue visit from his uncle could help quell his nerves. It could not come quick enough.

He felt the tell-tale boiling in his belly as Sokka entered and offered him the curtest of nods before more jovially approaching Mai and his newborn son. It both fascinated and infuriated him to see them together. There was an easiness to them when in each other's company that neither shared with him. If he had not known absolutely otherwise, he would suspect them both of an affair, ironic as it was. Their closeness was, however, strictly platonic – yet it did not stop the jealously rising in his throat, on both parts. Their friendship had been a surprising, yet strangely comfortable (to the two of them, in any case) one. Mai's sharp, yet deadpan sense of humor suited Sokka well, and there were more times than he cared to count that Zuko could hear their simultaneous laughter bound down and along the stone corridors. Sometimes he thought there was something supernatural about it, like it sought out and found him no matter how far away he tried to get, like a relentless, haunting spirit. The same sound echoed over to him now, though he chose not to listen to the script of their banter. The tone of it was enough for him to turn his ears off, as well as he was able, in any case. He excused himself, not really hearing his own words for fear of hearing theirs, and stepped onto the large balcony.

Lighting his fist, he used the flame to see around the stone tiles until he was along the side of the castle, out of sight. He used the solitude to gather his nerves. The previous night's insult still stung him, and the wound was in no way aided by seeing the halves of his personal world so comfortable together. He had to wonder how much, if anything, Mai knew of his now five year dalliance with the Water Tribesman. It seemed counter-intuitive to think that she might suspect the truth and still be so close to Sokka, yet his wife was by no means stupid – or naïve. Even though the thought often bothered him, Zuko kept it at bay as much as he could, as it made the imminent twisting in his stomach increase ten-fold. He'd more than once angrily just asked Sokka point-blank whether he had told her anything and after a maddening handful of months with no straight answer, a flame to the throat had finally convinced the other man to admit that he had not said anything, although the answer came eerily calm and without further detail. He'd asked Sokka several times since then, always receiving the same flaccid answer. It wasn't as though the other man wasn't emotional – quite the contrary – he had fierce opinions, even sharper than his wit, and he and Zuko had come to blows more than once arguing the right or wrongfulness of the young Lord's actions, most often leaving seared and sword-sliced flesh in their wake. Almost as often, the singed and stung skin was afterward soothed with a naturally heated touch and unnaturally warm, wet tongue.

After a few minutes, the footfalls of another announced Sokka's presence rounding the corner of the balcony. Much to Zuko's chagrined displeasure, the Water Tribesman did not come close, staying several arm's length away. When he spoke, his voice was steely and cold, like the land he had hailed from, all ice and stone.

"Mai is asking for you. She's weak, you should take charge of your son."

Zuko did not dare turn to face him, unsure of what might shoot forth, but anyone astute enough to notice would have seen his hand, already flaming in the blackness, tighten around the stone of the balcony railing, his knuckles turning white in the red glow. "In a minute. I need to calm myself before I hold him again." At the mention of his son, the Firelord's expression softened a bit. "I don't want to hurt him."

At this, Sokka fished a roll of herbs set in a long filter out of one of his robe pockets. Without ceremony, he moved in and bent to light the paper with Zuko's flaming hand. Zuko's eyes narrowed, but the gesture was lost on Sokka, who was to his left, to his scar. "When did you start smoking?"

Sokka stepped back a bit, propping one foot against the stone of the castle at his back. With no audible emotion, he answered, "When you started popping out little-Zukos" with a shrug.

Trying to lift the heaviness a bit, Zuko commented, "His name is Rouku, Rouku Iroh. And I didn't pop out anything, that was Mai's unfortunate task." The last part was added with a slight smile, Zuko trying to appeal to Sokka's usually apparent sense of humor.

If the Water Tribesman found the remark funny, he made no mention of it, choosing instead to keep to his more-than-usually icy reserve. Instead, he then narrowed his own blue eyes, replying, "Don't speak to me with charm cloaked in stupidity. It doesn't suit you." Flicking the burning portion of his rolled herb cigarette into the damp green grass below, Sokka turned his back, heading back inside the palace.

Zuko tried. Gods damn him, he tried not to let it slip out, but before Sokka could disappear back around the corner, he spoke in a voice only partially capable of carrying the distance between them. "Who was she?"

Sokka stopped, but did not turn around. In contrast to Zuko's near-whisper, his voice seemed too loud in the quiet night. "Don't ask stupid questions you already know the answer to. I don't ask what you do with your wife twenty-nine days out of the month." And with that reply, which was really no reply at all, Sokka continued back inside.

With a roar, quiet as it was, Zuko waited until the other young man was out of sight before lighting up everything around him; stone by carefully laid stone, flames swallowed the side of the balcony he stood on, setting it ablaze like a signal fire. It was another long half-hour before he was able to walk back in to his wife and baby boy. When he did, Sokka was already gone and Mai was nearly asleep, tiny Rouku in a cradle at her side. With a sigh, Zuko thought of his uncle Iroh, who could show up any time the next day. Then, at least, he might have some peace of mind, however fleeting.

TBC


End file.
